Things most Wished For
by RvnsDsks
Summary: Into the Woods AU following the lives of our core group as they interact before, during and after the woods. Movie-verse, with aspects of the musical. Inspired by various original translations of the fairytales. Be warned, this story will be dark and deal with disturbing subject matter. Rated high T/M for potentially triggering content. Warnings will be in A/Ns. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone, and thanks for the interest in my story. This is my first Into the Woods fanfic, and is centered mostly around the Baker and his wife, and Jack and Little Red, though it will feature all the other characters as well. Movieverse, so no Narrator, unfortunately. Sorry.**

 **Just a few warnings, this story is high T/M for later content, including intense sexual situations (mostly implied, but it's there) and possible triggers. I will be posting warnings in my Author's Notes, so keep an eye out and I hope you enjoy. This story is not Beta read, so if you catch anything while reading that you think I need to fix or change, please let me know in your reviews!**

 **Anyway, here's the story and I'll try to keep updates frequent.**

 **\- Raven**

* * *

Ch. 1-

The oven poured out thick black smoke, choking the stooped man who bent over it, yet he refused to let out a cough, knowing his wife would hear and scold him again. He wiped the sweat from his brow with an awkward jerking movement, his arm slamming into his head and temporarily dazing him for a moment. His grey-green eyes were squinted against the heat and the light, and his clothes were stained white in patches from years of working with flour. He strained against the weight of the wooden pan, and lurched backwards as it gave suddenly and slid out of the fiery hole in the wall, a black stone sitting in its center.

"That's the fifth loaf you've burnt this morning!" His wife's voice rang in his ears, and he jumped, startled, slamming his head against the low brick arch of the oven.

He straightened, biting back a curse, and turned to face his wife with a sheepish expression. "I know," he said, wincing as he rubbed his head. "I'm sorry."

Her expression was less than forgiving, her dark brows drawn low over sharp green eyes, taut cheeks and small lips pulled down in a frown. Her hair was drawn halfway across her face, tied up loosely with a once-red cloth, and her hands rested on her hips.

"You're distracted," she said plainly, her tone sharp, but eyes betraying something else. "I know you can churn out more than ten loaves by noon, while I manage only four or five."

"Well, I have been at it longer," he replied cheekily, grinning at her, and her eyes twinkled as she threw a rag at him from the table beside her.

"Only by three years!" She cried, laughing, and he joined her, the sound bringing a feeling of life to the otherwise dismal looking cottage.

Only one wooden table stood between them in the center of the room, the brick oven the sole source of warmth when the winter months dragged on, like they tended to do these days. Raw dough sat in misshapen heaps on one side of the table, and on the other, the future that lay in store for them; neat little rolls, the outer skin of the bread perfectly crisp, with a soft and sticky center. The air smelled of ash, with a faint taste of wood, along with the broken promise of perfect bread.

Her laugh died first, and he followed soon after, inwardly tensing at the small frown that threatened to deepen if he said something to displease her.

"What is it you're thinking of?" she asked, her voice gentle, and he sighed, glancing away from her and staring forlornly at the door, which was barred now, signifying their closed shop.

"It's not the witch, is it?" his wife asked, a note of worry and disapproval creeping into her tone.

"No, of course not!" he cried, so caught off guard by her guess that he nearly dropped the pan. He placed it on the wooden table and took a knife from his soiled apron, cutting into the bread with the hope that maybe the inside would be salvageable…and sighed in disappointment as he discovered that the inside was just as burnt as the outside, if not more so, and he chopped the bread into smaller pieces before tossing it into the small bucket they kept for this purpose, already full of the other loaves he had burnt.

"Because you know she likes to make empty threats," his wife continued behind him. "And besides, she isn't due for another two days."

"I know," he said, a little harsher than he intended, and he could almost hear her stiffen. He turned around and sighed, gently placing his hands on her shoulders and running them down her arms.

"Lissa," he said softly, but she refused to look at him, a haughty expression on her face and her eyes fixed on a spot past his head. He shifted his weight to place himself in front of her, and she turned her head the other way.

"Lissa," he said again, a plea in his tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you, you know."

She still refused to look at him, though her lips twitched, and his own mouth twisted into a sly grin. He slid a little closer, moving around so his arms wrapped around her from behind, and he slowly began working them up and down her back, gently kneading the tense muscles there. He could feel her slowly relax back against him, and he smiled even wider when he finally heard her give a small moan, and he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck. She gave a small squeak, and turned on him, eyes flashing, but mouth smiling.

"I'm forgiven then?" he asked, his cheeks aching from his smile, and she playfully swatted him again with the rag before moving to the other side of the table, placing one of the half formed lumps onto the wooden pan and working to form it into a ball, all thoughts of the previous argument fleeing in the comfortable silence.

A knock on the door startled the man so violently that his knife slipped, and he felt a sharp pain as the blade sliced the back of his hand. He cursed then, and his wife gave him a severe look, but it fell when she saw the cloth pressed to his hand, and the telltale red stain. She moved quickly around the table, motioning with her hand for him to remove the cloth. He did, hissing, and she examined the wound for a moment before relief relaxed her furrowed brow, a glint in her eyes as she swatted at him.

"I thought you had cut a finger off or something!" she scolded him lightly.

"I'm dying," he moaned pitifully, and she grumbled back at him.

"It's only a small cut," she said, crossing her arms.

"Small!?" he protested, but she shooed him away.

"Go and answer the door, Paul."

He frowned, but moved to do as she bid, struggling for a moment before sliding the wooden bolt up with one hand, pulling the door open a crack and peering out into the darkness. It took his eyes a moment to adjust, but then he raised his brows in surprise.

"Hello?" he said carefully, and the girl smiled at him, relief in her eyes.

"Oh, you _are_ open!" She exclaimed, leaning forward as though to come in. "I was afraid for a moment…"

"I'm sorry," Paul said, not quite meaning it. "But we are closed, you'll have to come back in the morning."

"Please?" She begged, standing on her toes. "Just a loaf of bread, that's all I need, I swear! And then I'll be gone."

"We have none," the baker lied, peering anxiously over his shoulder at his wife, who was just pulling one of her loaves from the oven; the one that would be their meal.

"But…" the girl began, then her head jerked up, whipping around to glance nervously behind her. She froze for a moment, then relaxed, turning back around and continuing her sentence in the same breath. "You're a bake shop. How does a bake shop run out of bread?"

It was an impertinent question, and the baker scowled, annoyed and in pain. "You'll have to come back tomorrow," he told her again, adding a stiff, "Good night," before wrestling the door closed.

He turned back around, to find his wife scowling furiously at him, the loaf of bread in her hands, wrapped neatly in a white handkerchief. She looked about ready to yell, and he braced himself for it, but then she stopped, and simply shook her head, a heavy expression settling in her eyes. She turned away from him, placing the loaf in a small basket laid on the table, then she untied her apron and hung it on its hook on the back wall, and let her hair down from the bandana, shaking out her stringy brown curls and wiping the remaining flour off with the cloth.

"What?" he asked her, moving into the room and copying her actions, though his own short hair he swept through with his fingers, combing out any bits of flour or egg that might have wound up in it.

She didn't look at him, or speak to him, instead continuing to clean the small shop, sweeping the floors and straightening the chairs around the table, while the baker followed behind her like a kicked dog, silently tidying up as well, dousing the flames in the oven and scraping the ash from the bottom, trying not to scratch the clay too much, as he knew his wife hated the noise, and emptying the ashes into the ash bucket, which he then emptied out the window, silently vowing to bury it in the morning. When he finished that he bound his hand in some clean bandages, knowing it would most likely scab over somewhat overnight. All the while, there was silence, and when they finally blew out the lanterns and candles in the kitchen, the Baker felt a sort of dread fill him as he followed his still-silent wife into their bedroom, which was attached to the main kitchen and separated by a smaller version of the front door.

He watched her undress, still silent, her back to him, and as she began to pull her thin night-dress over her head, he slid up behind her, his arms wrapping gently around her and his hands wandering slowly up her stomach.

"Lissa," he pleaded gently. "What is it? What have I done?"

But she was stiff and cold in his arms, and pulled away from him, the dress falling down to her ankles. She walked over to the bed and slid under the sheets, curling up with her back to the door, and to him. He sighed and undressed himself, pulling on his own night shirt and a fresh pair of pants, sliding into the bed beside her and trying to draw her into his arms, but she stopped him with a curt, "Don't," and he pulled away, rolling over onto his back and staring at the shadows on the ceiling, which danced and flickered in time with the candle on their bedside table. He wondered what he had done, tried to think of his actions throughout the day, and pin point where he had gone wrong. The only thing he could think of was when he had snapped at her, but he had thought he was forgiven for that.

"Lissa." His mouth formed her name, but she spoke before he could, her voice tight.

"You sent her away."

"What?" he asked, sitting up and looking down at her.

"The girl," she said, still not looking at him. "You turned her away; said we had no bread when we did."

"Lissa," he said, a wry laugh slipping out with the name. His hand moved to her shoulder, but she pulled away again, frowning at the wall.

"Don't you 'Lissa' me," she snapped. "You sent her away."

He was about to snap back, but then he saw the way she lay: her arm tucked under her head, knees tucked lightly up, wrapping around an invisible bump, her free hand resting on a painfully empty stomach; and he knew what this was about. He laid down beside her, tucking himself close and mirroring her position, drawing her into his arms and resting his chin on her head. She went willingly this time, and he could feel a tear drift down onto his hand from where it was tucked under her chin.

"I'm sorry, Lissa," he whispered, and a small tremor went through her as she tried to stifle a sob.

"It's not me you should be apologizing to," she responded, her tone no longer angry, but wavering all the same.

"I know."

"What if…" she began, then caught herself once before plunging on. "What if it had been our child?"

There was a heavy silence, and he felt the guilt claw at him all the more, a sick feeling deep in his stomach that threatened to choke off his voice as he tried to speak and failed.

"What if it had been our child?" She repeated, her voice breaking. "Looking for help in the Village, and someone turned them away just as you had?"

She didn't mean it the way he took it, and he knew that, but it hurt all the same. The knowledge that he had failed her, again, that he was somehow inadequate, unworthy of being her husband, of being a man at all. What kind of man couldn't give his wife the child she so desperately deserved? Lissa was shaking in his arms, and he realized with a jolt that they were both crying, his own tears falling into her hair, though she didn't seem to notice through her own tears.

"I'm sorry," Lissa choked out finally, pressing herself closer to him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

He couldn't speak, but he nodded, knowing she would feel it, that she would understand and forgive him.

"I'm sorry," she continued, her voice clearing, though her tears did not. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the wife you deserve."

"Lissa, no," he said sharply, his voice thick with his tears. He gripped her shoulders gently, but firmly. "No, don't you say that. Don't you ever say that. You are everything I could ever hope for and more. Understand?" He gently squeezed her shoulders again before moving his uninjured hand to her back, sliding it under her dress and tracing small circles on her skin.

"You deserve a child," she continued, too lost in her own sorrow to acknowledge his words. "A son. I should be able to…" she broke off again, shaking harder, though her tears had finally stopped.

"Liss," he said, his hand stilling on her back. "Lissa, look at me."

She rolled over, her knees pressed against his, though he still held her close. Her green eyes looked almost as dark as his in the dim light, and he could see the shine of her tears on her cheeks. He gently kissed them away, tasting the salt and feeling her shift slightly under him. He drew back and took her hands, rubbing his thumbs over hers gently, a gentle smile tracing his lips.

"Lissa, I love you."

"Paul," she protested, but he shook his head.

"I mean it, Liss. I love _you_ , child or no, and nothing will ever change that."

She smiled a watery smile at him, and he drew her in for another kiss, feeling her arms reach up to wrap around him, a soft moan whispering in his ear as he once more moved his mouth down to her throat, and even further down, until her heard her giggle slightly as his mouth found the soft skin of her stomach. He smiled against her skin. She had always been ticklish, and he tickled her side, and she squirmed and finally laughed, her tears forgotten, and he rolled over her, raising himself up to stare down at her, breathless and smiling beneath him. He rolled once more, drawing her in his arms and simultaneously pulling at the hem of her dress, slipping it up and over her head before tossing it carefully onto the floor beside the bed. She shivered for a moment, the sudden rush of cold causing gooseflesh to rise over her body, but he quickly remedied that, his hands moving gently and warmly over her skin, and she hummed softly as he continued, eyes closed, and he could feel his need for her growing, and he continued his motions with one hand, carefully maneuvering to remove his shirt and toss it down beside her dress on the floor.

Lissa's eyes opened at the shift of the bed, and she smiled a little wider, bringing her own hand to rest on his chest, feeling his heart beat in time with hers. "I love you," she whispered, and he kissed her again, allowing her to wrap her arms around him as he began to undo his pants. He shifted again, to remove them completely, then once more moved back to her as his pants also found their way to the floor. She laughed as he rolled gently on top of her, then her breath caught as he kissed her throat again, which deepened into a moan as his hands found her center, slowly moving inside her, and he felt her arch back, her body shifting to allow him to move deeper, and she gasped as he gently curled his finger, whispering her name as she clung to him.

"Please," she gasped in his ear, and he needed no further encouragement. His mouth moved once more to hers, gently teasing it open, while his hands moved steadily faster, and she whimpered, her body pressing closer to his. A breathy moan slipped past her lips, locked with his, and he too moaned as his need became almost unbearable, but this was about her, not him. So he continued his ministrations, then in a wicked impulse, he stopped, just before she reached her peak, and she let out a muffled mew of displeasure, pulling out of the kiss to glare at him, though it wasn't as sharp as it could have been in the midst of her pleasure.

"Paul!" she scolded, and he grinned at her, his eyes twinkling in the candle light.

"Say please," he teased her, and she looked about ready to protest, but then her own eyes lit, and she pressed herself closer to him, one hand pulling her head to hers, while the other trailed down to his arousal. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out, and she grinned wickedly as she pulled away from his mouth, but her hand stayed where it was, slowly moving up and down and he groaned, a shudder running through him along with a spasm of pleasure.

"Please," she whispered, and he took her in his arms, allowing her to guide him to her entrance, and in one quick thrust he was moving inside her, slowly at first, but steadily faster, until she was panting and moaning, her fingers digging into his back as she clung to him. She shifted, arching her back, and he moved deeper inside her, his own groan joining hers as he felt his own climax beginning to near. His hands were on her back now, under her hips, lifting her and allowing him to thrust even deeper, longer strokes that caused her to shiver each time, and his mouth moved to suck gently at the side of her neck, eliciting a cry from her, and a groan as he thrust again. Her back arched again, her body shifting against him as he thrust inside her once more, and her climax hit, her body tensing and head falling back against the pillows as a soft cry slipped past her lips. He felt her tighten around him, and he climaxed as well, releasing and whispering her name as he slowly thrust a few more times as he finished, and she reached up, holding him close to her and not allowing him to pull away for a moment, her body pressing against him in a rhythm matching his own thrusts, and he groaned as another wave rolled over him, and she climaxed with him a second time, panting and laughing breathlessly as she finally laid back against the pillows, and he kissed her slowly, gently, before rolling off of her and bringing the blankets up over both of them, holding her in his arms as she drifted to sleep against his chest. He leaned over her carefully, blowing out the candle, before kissing her head in the darkness and settling back down under the sheets.

It didn't take him long, however, to discover that he was not going to fall asleep as easily as his wife had. Things had been smoothed over for now, but what about tomorrow? The girl would surely be back, and what then? He didn't know why, but he had uneasy feeling about her, something in her eyes, something that was off. It scared him, as embarrassed as he might be to admit it, but he didn't like the girl, and hoped that if only for his sake, she would have found another baker in the Village. But more than anything, he wished for a child. Sons brought more honor, that's what was believed in the Village, and throughout the kingdom, but a son, a daughter, it didn't matter to him, as long as the child was healthy and whole, and his. Theirs, he corrected himself as he felt his wife shift in her sleep. It had often occurred to him, and been suggested that he try for a child at one of the less than reputable taverns on the outskirts of the Village, at the far side, near the wood. The fault might be with the wife, the whispers said, perchance he find another? Or perchance the fault is his? Or perchance, perchance, perchance.

He cursed the whispers and the taverns, cursed himself and his failures. For the fault was his, he knew that somehow, and he whispered a final plea, a wish for a child, before finally drifting off to sleep beside his wife, the smell of burnt bread still hanging in the air.


	2. Chapter 2

Ch. 2-

The baker woke as the sun was pouring into the bedroom window, and he heaved a sigh, squinting against the light and looking around for his clothes. He smiled as he caught sight of his wife, still snuggled close to him, a peaceful expression on her face. He reached out as gently traced the lines on her forehead, and she stirred, frowning, the lines deepening under his fingers before relaxing again. He remembered how she had hardly ever frowned, back when they had first met and started courting her. It was what had drawn him to her in the first place, and he would look forward to her visits to his shop.

He had been a young man then, well, a younger man, and had been working in the Village with the baker there, trying to learn the skill, and she would come every morning for the same thing; one loaf of sourdough bread, and one apple pie. He had hated making pies, his hands got all sticky, and if it was lemon then the juice would get all over his face and run down into his eyes. But when he would hand her the items, she would smile, a small shy smile just for him, and it would all be worth it. He had been too shy to speak to her during those visits, apart from regular business talk, but he would often follow her around the Village, hoping for another glimpse of that smile.

She had only started frowning once the baking began, and even then, the frowns were ones of concentration, never displeasure, and the smiles were always the same, and that gentle shy smile just for him was always present. Even in the Village when people would call her Lissa, she would smile a gentle smile and correct them with: "Beth, if you wouldn't mind." Only he was allowed to call her Lissa, and he treasured the name as much as he did those special smiles. But when it was discovered that they couldn't have a child, the smiles became less and less, the frowns deepening to scowls, and occasionally, as the night before had shown, tears.

But there was no sign of those tears now, and her eyes were clear as she looked up at him, still tracing her brow, and she smiled, not the special smile, but a smile nonetheless. He gently placed a kiss to her brow, where his hand had been, and she hummed happily, and he took it as encouragement, moving down to kiss her lips, and even lower, to her neck. She placed a hand on his chest, murmuring for him to stop, but there was no force behind it, and the word quickly melted into a moan as his hand found the inside of her legs. He was more than willing to reprise their moment from last night, but Lissa pushed a little more incessantly on his chest and he stopped, pulling away with a confused frown on his face.

She laughed at him, playfully swatting his arm as she sat up, reaching for her discarded nightgown and tossing him his pants. "We have customers to prepare for," she said, in answer to his look, and he muttered an inaudible curse at the fact.

"Customers can wait," he said, reaching for her, but she danced out of his reach, his shirt catching him in the face as she slipped through the door, and he heard the front door open as well and knew she was going to wash and that he had probably better get up and open shop. He rolled out of bed, slipping his pants and shirt on, moving into the other room and washing his hands and face in the small basin of water they kept for this purpose, and began preparing more dough for the rolls and pies and sweet cakes they would need for the morning rush. It never ceased to make the baker wonder why their little shop was so popular. There was a bake shop in the Village, yet they still found quite a number of customers coming to them, mostly in the mornings and afternoons, since no one dared to brave the journey in the dark.

A knock on the door alerted him to their first customer, and he paused in his bread making, wiping the flour from his hands on his apron before sliding the latch and opening the top part of the door, grinning at the man who stood before him.

"Morning Paul," the man said cheerily, and Paul inclined his head.

"Morning Eli," he replied. "Come for that cherry pie already?"

"Bright and early," Eli agreed, nodding. "Sunday breakfast; you know how the girls love it."

"That I do!" Paul called over his shoulder as he prepared the pie in question, wrapping it in a white cloth similar to the one his wife had used for the bread the night before. Eli had three girls, his wife and their two daughters, the eldest a mirror of their mother, while the younger bore Eli's features.

"Here you are, Eli," he said, handing the pie to the man with one hand, and accepting his coins with the other. "Enjoy your Sunday!"

"You as well," Eli nodded back. "Tell Beth I said hello."

"I will," Paul promised, waving the man off before returning to his work. He had another two pies prepared when Lissa walked through the door, placing the full bucket of water by the front door. He smiled at her, and she returned it wearily before going back into the other room to change into a fresh dress. When she returned, he passed along Eli's greeting, and she smiled again, though he noted the pained look in her eyes.

"How are the girls?" She asked, her voice strained, and Paul looked down at the crust in his hands as he answered.

"They're well; Eli says the youngest has taken to following him around everywhere, even to work." He smiled fondly as he pictured it, but Lissa's tone made him bring his head up.

"Through the woods?" She bore a frightened and disapproving look. "I doubt Miriam likes that."

He was about to answer, but another knock heralded another customer, and he moved off to answer the door instead, and the pattern in the shop became its usual routine of making the dough, rotating between himself and Lissa as to who answered the door or filled the oven or made more dough. Around midday during a lull in customers they took a short break to eat their own lunch, a meat pie Lissa had prepared the night before, and then another knock interrupted that and it was back to the bread and the customers. All the while, John worried and wondered about the girl, that uneasy feeling pursuing every thought of her, but as it got darker and neared evening he slowly cast aside those thoughts, knowing that no one would come this late in the day.

So you can imagine his surprise when a tentative knock came at the door while he was wrapping some loaves for the next day. Lissa answered it, and his hands stilled as he heard her say, "Come in little girl."

He turned his head, and there she was, the girl from last night, shifting back and forth as she stood just inside the door. She wore a light blue dress, the color of the sky on a clear day, with a scarlet red cloak draped around her shoulders and tied at her throat with an equally red cord, a hood attached to the cloak resting against the back of her neck, and small red boots that laced across her ankle instead of at her heel. It had been dark, and he hadn't seen what she looked like, so really, he didn't know for sure if it was the same girl, but when she spoke, his fears were confirmed.

"Just a loaf of bread," she was saying, handing a coin to Lissa. Her eyes glanced around the cottage and she spotted him standing by the table, and she gave a nervous but curious smile as she moved over to the other side of the table, folding her hands on top of the wood and watching with hazel eyes that appeared a greyish blue in the light as he began kneading some dough into the shape of a pie crust.

"What are you making?" she asked, her head cocking to one side, causing her dark curls to bounce on her head.

"A pie," he answered brusquely, and he saw Lissa frown out of the corner of his eye.

"What kind of pie?" the girl asked, as Lissa wrapped the bread in a blue cloth. If she noticed his tone she didn't heed it, and he felt a pang of irritation, his hand still sore and throbbing after using it all day.

"Does it matter?" he snapped, and her lips drew into a not-quite-frown.

"I suppose not, but I was just curious." She was silent for a moment as he placed the crust in a dish and began pressing it into the grooves, then sprinkling water and more flour inside before crinkling the edges.

"My granny makes pies like that, too," the girl said eagerly, still watching him. "She does it differently for different pies; if it's one she's going to cover, like a meat pie, she'll leave the edges the way they are, but if it's fruit, she'll crinkled it, different patterns for different fruit, like lemon, she'll fold it over itself so it looks like an endless wave around the pie, or cherry, she'll press it with a fork so it had ridges, or apple, she'll…" she continued on, hardly stopping for breath. Lissa looked on with a fond expression, but it only served to annoy the baker further, and his movements became sloppy, and his hand slipped on one edge, tearing a line down the length of the crust's side.

"Oh," the girl gasped, eyes widening as she spotted the tear. "You ripped it."

"I know," he responded coldly, inwardly cursing as he tried to mend it.

"Oh, you don't do it like that," the girl said, her voice cheerful once more. She reached across the table, pressing and folding the crust over itself and stretching it to cover the gap. "See? My granny showed me how, once. I can help if you…" but she didn't make it much further, for the baker placed a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back, a scowl on his face.

"I don't need your help!" he snapped, his voice and his shove both harsher than he had intended.

The girl reacted as though he had struck her, her body stiffening and head lowering. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, her voice soft.

"No," the baker sighed. "I am. I shouldn't have acted that way."

She peered up at him through her dark lashes, looking unsure, and he offered a strained sort of smile. "Show me again how to fix the tear?" He encouraged, motioning to the half-finished mend, and the girl stepped forward, then stopped, shaking her head.

"No," she said, shifting back towards the door. "I mean, no, thank you. I…it's late, and I only need the bread."

She took the loaf from Lissa with a small smile of thanks, and was gone before either of them could say another word, disappearing into the dark and down the path to the Village.

"You shouldn't have done that," Lissa scolded him once the girl had gone. "She was only asking questions, Paul, you didn't need to get so upset."

"I did say I was sorry," he tried to defend himself, but her scowl was still in place, and he knew he wouldn't be as easily forgiven this time.

He groaned, and went back to trying to fix the mend, using the technique the girl had, different as it may be from what he had learned. It wasn't as neat as hers, but it was enough to salvage the crust and make the lemon pie he had been trying for in the first place. The rest of the night passed slowly, and quietly, and for a moment John worried that Lissa wouldn't speak to him, but she broke the sudden silence of their meal as he was bringing a piece of chicken to his mouth.

"Did you notice something odd about the girl?"

He chewed the meat carefully, her eyes intent as they watched him, as he tried to think of how to explain his feelings about the girl. He finally swallowed, and as tempted as he was to take another bite to further delay answering, she was waiting for his response, and he sighed before nodding.

"Yes," he admitted, taking a quick drink before continuing. "Yes, if I'm being honest. She made me feel uneasy."

"Oh?" his wife repeated lightly, raising an eyebrow at him, and he made a face back at her before turning serious again.

"Maybe uneasy is the wrong word," he tried rephrasing. "It's was just…odd. Off. Something, I don't know, just doesn't feel right."

Lissa nodded. "It was her eyes," she wondered aloud. "Something not right in her eyes."

Paul agreed silently. It was something in her eyes.

"She was sweet, though," Lissa said after a pause. "How I would imagine our daughter to look. But with your eyes."

"No, yours." Paul countered with a grin. "And your curls." It was a fun game they would play every now and then, debating what their child might look like. It was a game that brought fun when played, but sadness afterwards, as they knew their fantasies could never be realized.

"But our son would have your eyes," she insisted, and he smiled.

"A mini replica of me," he teased, and she laughed.

"And what of me?"

"Well, that would be where our daughter came in."

She started to open her mouth to retort, but then froze, her head turning so her ear was towards the door.

"Did you hear that?"

He paused, listening.

"Hear what?"

"That sound," she said. "Listen!"

He did, and heard a low whistling, a sort of moaning, keening sound, and he relaxed back against his chair, cutting another piece of chicken. "Just the wind howling," he replied.

"Or a wolf," Lissa said darkly, shuddering.

"Wolves don't come this close to the Village, Liss," he assured her. "It's too dangerous for them, with all the people. Besides, what reason would a wolf have to come to the Village anyway?"

"To steal the children," she suggested, her tone still dark.

"Just an old wives' tale," he said, laughing. He reached across the table to take her hand in his. She didn't look fully convinced, but she didn't press the issue, and they settled into a comfortable silence, finishing their meal and cleaning the rest of the shop and kitchen, but as they settled into bed, a frantic pounding started at the door.

"Paul!" A man's voice called out, followed by more pounding. "Paul, open up!"

"Eli?" Lissa said, and Paul shook his head, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and moving into the other room, Lissa close behind him.

"Paul, please!" Eli begged, just as he opened the door, and the man stumbled inside, hand raised in the midst of another knock.

"Eli, what…?" he began, but the man interrupted before he had even finished saying his name.

"Paul, you have to come! We're rounding up all the men, inside and out the Village." He drew a quick breath, and Lissa used the opportunity to relight the lamps hanging in the room.

"What is it, Eli?" Paul asked, holding out a steadying hand.

"Wolf!" Eli gasped, his brown eyes wide, face pale and brow sweaty beneath his mop of hair the color of mud.

Lissa froze, and he heard her draw her breath in sharply, though she didn't say anything, simply moving back to stand beside him.

"A wolf?" she repeated slowly, her tone tense.

Eli nodded, and Paul muttered a curse, though Lissa didn't bother to correct him. "At the edge of the Village…?" he asked, knowing that any wolves they had seen before always stuck to the borders, by the woods.

"In the Village!" Eli said, his feet starting to edge back towards the door. "By the wood cutter's house; his barn, you have to come now!"

"I told you," Lissa murmured quietly, and he frowned, more at the news than at her words.

"Not now, Liss," he said, quickly moving into the bedroom and retrieving his jacket, pulling it on and rushing back out into the other room, grabbing his rifle from it lay propped beside the door, and Lissa made a soft noise of protest.

"Don't worry," he whispered, placing a kiss on her forehead. "I'll be back, it will be fine."

Eli nodded. "He's right, Elisabeth," he said. "We've dealt with wolves before, this will be no different. He'll be back to you before midnight."

But she knew he was lying to her. He never called her Elisabeth, not unless he was delivering serious news, like the blacksmith's son's death last winter, or unless he was lying. But she nodded anyway, smiling grimly, and just like that, Paul was gone, leaving her alone in the cottage.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the shortness of this chapter, I ended up having to split chapter 3. I will be posting the second part (chapter 4) shortly, if anyone is interested. This is slightly AU due to some of the subject matter, and my interpretations of said subjects are based on the original translations/interpretations of the fairytales. Also, I'm sorry if the ending scene of the first chapter offended anybody, I tried to handle it as tastefully as I could, but I know it could be seen as too much by some. Let me know if I need to add a warning for that.**

 **Warning for some violence in this chapter. Hope you all are enjoying, and don't forget to review!**

 **\- Raven**

* * *

Ch. 3-

"Look at the size of the thing!" George hissed, as he crouched next to the Baker, staring down the barrel of his gun at the creature, which was twice the size of an average wolf.

Paul didn't say a word, but it wasn't necessary, everyone was thinking and saying the same thing. How are we going to kill it? The beast had made its stand in the woodcutter's barn, a wise move, if one thought about it. No one dared go in after it, lest they be trapped and killed, and the wolf wasn't about to leave its shelter.

"How did it even get into the Village?" he asked the blacksmith, and the man shrugged, wiping off his sweaty hands before repositioning his rifle on his shoulder.

"Through the woods," he said. "No one really knows, just that it's here."

"What did it come for?" John asked, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer.

"That we can say," George said, chuckling grimly. "It had its head through the bottom window, about ready to snatch up Emily. Lucky Chris saw it and chased it out of the house, but now it's in the barn, and we're at a standstill."

The news sent a wave of nausea and panic through Paul, and Lissa's words rang through his ears. "And Richard?" he asked, of the wood cutter's young son, still just a toddler.

"The boy was sound asleep," Eli chimed on from his other side. "Didn't even wake up till he heard Emily start screaming."

"Why would it go after Emily and not him?" Paul asked. "Not that I would wish the fate on the boy, mind, just that his bed is right under the window, while Emily's is farther."

"What I want to know," Jacob, the leather worker said, striding up to the group. "Is how we're going to kill the devil."

"The only way is to get close enough to the barn to shoot it, but of course, that's impossible," Eli said.

"Not impossible," Chris broke in grimly. "Just difficult."

"And dangerous," Jacob added.

"Dangerous or no, I want it dead." Chris' expression was as dark as his voice. "It tried to kill my daughter, and who's to say it won't go after another child?"

"What do you propose we do, then?" Jacob's tone was slightly sarcastic, and Chris turned cold eyes to him.

"Light a fire," he said immediately. "At the back of the barn. Smoke it out and then we can shoot it."

"But Chris," someone protested. "Your barn."

"To hell with the barn!" Chris swore loudly, causing the man who had asked the question to flinch. "I can replace it; build another, but what can't be replaced is a lost child. You of all of us should know that, George." He turned a softer eye to the blacksmith, who nodded once, eyes locked on the barn.

"Let's do it then, and quickly."

They crept around the back of the barn and lit a small fire, hoping that the wind would pick it up and carry it towards the wolf, as well as create more smoke, which would also aid in driving out the creature. The barn caught fire faster than they had anticipated, growing to the point where they thought they should put it out, for fear it would spread through the grass, but it stayed on the barn, and through the darkness they could see a shadow move beyond the flames.

It was the wolf, and now Paul could see the cause of such alarm. The thing was nearly as tall as a man, coming up to just below chest height, and certainly larger than Chris' daughter, capable of swallowing her whole, if it had the mind to. It didn't dart from the barn like a frightened thing, instead it walked out calmly, dark eyes glinting in the light from the fire. The men all raised their guns, shouting and banging the metal, hoping to create enough noise to startle it, and one man, Paul couldn't tell who through the smoke, but he thought it might have been Chris, took a shot at the wolf, aiming at the creature's eyes. The wolf moved as soon as the crack sounded, leaping to the side and turning its head, as though to watch the bullet's path as it buried itself in the wooden shed behind him instead of his skull.

It turned back, slowly, and bared its teeth, a sinister sound almost like a chuckle rising in its throat. Men cursed, and crossed themselves, muttering about demons, but then the wolf was running; not away from them, but towards them, white fangs glinting in the darkness, and more cursing went up, as well as more gun shots, but all went past their intended target, and it leapt, catching Jacob in the shoulder and dragging him down with it, its teeth tearing into him so quickly they couldn't see the attack. But they could hear Jacob's screams, an awful bloodcurdling sound, and see the blood, black instead of red, thick and hot as it poured from his throat, choking him as he writhed under the wolf's body. The creature gave one final jerk of its head, tearing out Jacob's throat and spraying more blood onto the grass, and the man went limp, his body still.

Behind him, Paul could hear someone retching, as well as more cursing than he had thought to have heard from the men, as well as the sounds of guns dropping to the ground, feet beating a hasty retreat. Only he and Eli remained, and Eli had his hand on his shoulder, trying to coax him to leave. Paul was the only one had maintained his grip on his gun, and he raised it now, both eyes open as he stared down the barrel at the creature who was lapping at his friend's blood as if it were water. The wolf's ears pricked, and its head raised, eyes locked on his. It didn't growl at him, or bare its teeth, instead licking its lips once, slowly, before throwing back its head and letting out a howl that made the Baker's hair stand on end, and turn his insides to jelly. Then Eli was pulling him backwards, and the wolf was gone, melting into the shadows cast by the dying flames of the barn.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey everyone! Sorry if this is a little late in coming for some of you. I meant to upload this last night but something came up and I wasn't able to. Anyway, no warnings this chapter, and this is technically part two of chapter three, so it picks up immediately after the wolf attack.**

 **Hope you appreciated some of the foreshadowing I did there, and there's some more of it in this one, as well as the first appearance by one of our favorite characters! (Well, she's one of my favorite, anyway)**

 **Here's the chapter, hope you all enjoy. Don't forget to review!**

 **\- Raven**

* * *

He walked through the door of the cottage, the warmth of the oven the first thing that greeted him, as well as the sight of Lissa, slumped in a chair, her head on the table, asleep. He would have smiled, if it weren't for the image of Jacob, dead in the grass, still fresh behind his eyes. She jerked awake at the sound of the bolt sliding into place, and her arms flung around him from behind, and he stiffened involuntarily, turning to find her staring at him, her eyes slightly fearful.

"Are you hurt?" she asked immediately, and he shook his head, and her features melted into relief.

"Did you find the wolf? Were Chris and the children alright?"

He nodded again, still unable to speak, afraid he would either break down sobbing or retching if he dared open his mouth. Maybe even both.

"What's wrong with you?" Lissa snapped, her tone full of fear, and not as sharp as it would have been otherwise.

"Jacob is dead," he choked out, his voice hoarse from the smoke, and he was grateful for the lack of tears or bile, though he felt both threatening to rise.

"What?" Lissa whispered, as pale as a sheet. "Jacob?"

"The wolf…killed him," he said, sparing his wife the gruesome details.

"No," she murmured, a hand rising to her mouth, before lowering again for her to whisper, "Poor Ruth. And Elliot, the boy's not even twelve yet."

He just nodded, unable to say all he wanted to. _We left him!_ He wanted to yell, to cry out. _We left him there in the grass, drowning in his own blood, with Chris' barn still burning behind him._ They had come back, of course, after the wolf had gone, but that had been at least an hour. An hour of cowardice, of betrayal.

"Is it dead?" Lissa asked, breaking into his thoughts.

He shook his head again, and saw her slump in defeat. "It's gone; back into the woods. But no, it's not dead."

"How?" She asked, her voice the bitter echo of grief. "With all of you there, how did you not manage to kill it?"

"Lissa," he began, then hesitated. "The wolf was like nothing we had ever seen. It didn't fear us, or the fire. We weren't able to drive it away," he confessed. "It left on its own."

"After it had killed Jacob," she finished, still bitter.

"Yes."

She let out a sob then, stepping forward into his arms, and he held her close, feeling her shaking under his hands.

"It could have been you," she cried. "It could have been you."

"Sshh," he whispered, rocking her gently. "It wasn't. Liss, I'm fine. I'm here."

She finally quieted, though he had to guide her backwards back to bed, since she refused to let go of him. Only once they were safely tucked under the blankets did she relax, though she still clung to him desperately, afraid that he would disappear if she loosened her grip even a little.

"What will you do?" she finally asked, after the candle had gone out. "About the wolf?"

"There's not much we can do; not unless it comes back," he replied guardedly. She heard the note in his tone and turned her face to look at him.

"What is it?"

He thought about confiding his fears; that this thing was surely some kind of demon, or that he had secretly been relieved that it had been Jacob who died and not him, or that this also made him grateful that they didn't have a child to be endangered by such events…but he kept it all to himself, simply shaking his head and giving a noncommittal grunt in response, though she seemed to hear and understand his unspoken thoughts, and she laid back down, eventually falling asleep in his arms.

But the Baker couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he pictured Jacob dead in the grass, red pouring from his body, and the wolf's eyes in the firelight, like twins coals, promising more death and bloodshed. He finally rolled over and carefully crept from the bed, making his way into the other room, slipping his coat on before finally making his way out of the cottage and into the small grassy patch behind the house.

Only once he was outside, with the cold biting his chest was he able to breathe easily, allowing his tears to fall for his fallen friend, letting them freeze on his cheeks. His eyes scanned the small bit of space, imagining flowers instead of snow and ice, silently promising that come spring, he would turn it into a proper garden for Lissa, like she had always wanted. A proper garden for their child. The thought of it made him smile, and his eyes turned to the garden beside his, overflowing with green plants and strange flowers, despite the cold weather.

Like their neighbor's garden.

He shivered, and realized that their neighbor was out, staring at him between rows of unidentifiable vegetables, unnaturally blue eyes glinting in the dark. He forced a smile, raising his hand in an awkward gesture of greeting.

"Good evening," he called, grateful for the friendly tone in his voice, covering any grief or fear.

"Is it?" she responded quickly, her eyes shifting as she made her way out of the rows.

He paused, caught off guard by her challenge, though he strove quickly to cover it. "A cold evening, but a good one." He rubbed his arms to emphasize his statement, and he heard her give a grunt in response, and she was now standing in front of the vegetables, leaning on her staff which was almost as twisted as she was. He often wondered, with the way she leaned so heavily on it, if the staff were taken away, would she fall over?

"Not nearly cold enough, then," she said, and he shook his head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, and his mouth opened wordlessly before he finally managed to speak.

"I don't understand."

"You say that it is a good evening; a good evening, and cold." Her voice was surprisingly youthful for her weathered appearance, though it was rough and uneven, as though she weren't used to talking to people.

"Yes, I did say…" he began, but she held up a hand, her eyes flashing in irritation, and he fell silent once more, muttering an apology.

"But if this is what makes a good evening; wolves killing friends and mysterious children in capes," she continued easily, as though there had been no interruption. "Then it is not nearly cold enough."

Her mouth twitched, as though trying to smile, though it was hard to tell as her thin hair covered most of her face, and the part of her face that could be seen remained stern and hard.

"How did you know about that?"

"I would have to be deaf not to hear the screaming, and blind not to see how the girl upsets you." Her pale fingers gripped her staff a little tighter, and he wondered if she had been offended somehow.

"She doesn't upset me," he lied, shifting his weight to try and regain circulation. "It's just…."

"She reminds you of all you don't have," the witch finished, and now the baker could clearly see the smile on her face, though there was a bitter note to it, and he frowned, his unease increasing.

"What would you know of it?" he challenged, and her smile faded, a coldness overtaking her features as she straightened-as far as she could-and glared at him.

"Far more than you."

And with those last scathing words, she turned on her heel and left, and the baker shivered in the cold a moment more before turning and heading back to his own home. The conversation had been confusing, and slightly jarring, and he was more than eager to be back in bed with Lissa. Just as he had his hand on the door knob, the breeze stirred his hair, and the witch's voice came with it, a chilling echo.

"Sometimes the things we most wish for are not to be touched."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey everyone! My gosh, sorry it's taken me so long to update, I am still writing this story and I had some consistency errors I had to deal with before I thought this was ready to post. So here it is, the next chapter of the story. There's a bit more foreshadowing here, props to anyone who catches it.**

 **Warnings for mild violence, but it's mostly action, though there are some hints towards darker things. (Although, this is Into the Woods, so.)**

 **Also, I realized I never wrote a disclaimer, so here it is, short and sweet: I do not own Into the Woods, movie or musical in any way, shape or form.**

 **Hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think in the reviews! I know I keep saying this but I really need to know what you guys are thinking and whether or not I should even continue this.**

 **\- Raven**

* * *

The witch's words followed him even into the next day, and he could feel Lissa's eyes on him, concern etched into her features as he mechanically went through the motions of making bread and putting it in the oven. There were significantly less customers today than usual, the news of Jacob's death still hitting everyone in the Village hard. They had just decided to close early and take the rest of the day off when the bell above the door rang, and Paul looked up to see a familiar flash of red.

"Hello, little girl," he heard Lissa say cheerfully, and the girl responded with a quiet hello, the lack of enthusiasm in her voice catching Paul attention instantly. He couldn't help but keep one eye on her as she made her way around the front of the shop, taking in the various sweets with a longing expression. He also noticed that her hood was up, something that had never presented itself in her previous visits.

"What kind of bread can I interest you in this afternoon?" Lissa asked, her smile still in place, though Paul could see it had a similar note of concern behind it; no doubt she too had noticed the change in the girl's attitude.

"Sourdough is fine," the girl said with a small smile in Lissa's direction, though her eyes were on him as he rolled a fresh bit of dough between his palms, and he smiled at her, hoping to make up for his earlier attitude.

She came into the 'kitchen,' interest clearly sparking in her eyes, even if her expression was cut off. She watched as he folded the dough, then took a knife to cut a design into the center before sliding it onto the wooden paddle and into the oven. She didn't ask any questions this time, or even offer some of her Grandmother's advice, which innerved him far more than her hood or guarded expression. Lissa called her from the front of the store, and she gave him a small parting smile before going to accept the basket from Lissa's hands.

"Are you going to visit your Grandmother again today?" He could hear Lissa ask, and he leaned forward to hear the girl's response. There was nothing for a moment, and he guessed she must have nodded, since he couldn't quite see her. Then she spoke, confirming Lissa's guess.

"Yes, almost every day, when I can." There was something more to her response, he knew, but he didn't think to question it then.

"Well, be careful," Lissa's voice had moved, and he knew she was walking the girl to the door. "If you're going through the woods, take the direct path. There's a wolf on the loose, and I would hate to see anything happen to you."

"I'll be fine," the girl said, and Paul could hear some of her usual spark in her voice. "I've travelled that path since I could crawl, there's nothing for me to be afraid of."

But John could hear a hint of doubt creep into her last words, and maybe a contradicting trace of fear, and he wondered what it was she was afraid of, if it wasn't wolves as she proclaimed. She was gone with the chime of the bell, and Lissa came back into the kitchen with him, her expression echoing his own doubts and concerns.

"Well?" he finally asked, unable to stand the silence.

"Well?" She repeated, raising an eyebrow at him.

He gave a pointed glare towards the door the girl had just exited out of, but Lissa only gave a small shrug in reply.

"Didn't she seem different to you?" he pressed, and she nodded, pursing her lips.

"Yes, but it's not really our concern, is it?"

"What isn't?" he asked before he could think, and Lissa glared at him, but didn't answer.

"Lissa, if this is about the other night…."

"It's not that," she interrupted quickly, but then she sighed, and he knew it was exactly that.

"It will be alright," he said, the only thing he could think of to say at the moment.

She didn't answer, and continued to pound at the lump of dough beneath her fists. He sighed, and decided to leave things be for now. She would come around eventually. He hoped. They continued working in silence, preparing what they would need for tomorrow's day of baking.

It was just beginning to transition to the evening when the howling began. Paul and Lissa's eyes met at the same moment, identical expressions of horror on their faces. Paul's eyes darted over to the door, where his gun still sat propped beside it, and he could see Lissa silently begging him not to go, but he was across the room and tugging on his coat before her words made it past her lips. He just had time to give her a sad smile and a whispered goodbye before the wolf reached the Village, and he slipped out the door, rushing down to meet Eli, who was halfway up the path to his house.

The man turned quickly on his heel and kept pace with Paul as they made their way in grim silence towards the Village. Halfway there, another howl tore through the air, sending chills up and down both men's spines.

"Where?" Paul gasped as they hurried their pace, his grip on his gun tightening instinctively.

"Cyrus'," Eli said back, equally breathless, and Paul faltered slightly, his brow furrowing as he tried to remember the face to go with the name, and why it made him so uneasy.

"Don't know why we're bothering," Eli muttered as they turned up the path to the Village, the light from torches flickering in the distance.

"What do you mean?" Paul asked, and Eli winced, embarrassed at being overheard.

"Nothing," he said quickly, his gaze resolutely straight ahead. "Just that he didn't come when Jacob was in danger, so why should we help him now?"

Paul didn't comment, but he knew that wasn't all that there was to his friend's spite. He tried to think more on what little he knew about Cyrus. He was a hunter, he knew that, though nowadays he was most commonly known as the town drunk. His wife had died ages ago, and the man had never quite gotten over the loss, his drunkenness more dangerous than comical or amusing as a result. There was something else too, but he couldn't think of it now.

The house soon came into view, and Paul felt his hair stand on end as the men's frantic shouts reached his ears, and he shoved his way forward to suddenly be confronted by a conflicting scene. Cyrus was being held back by two other village members, his face red from exertion as he struggled and cursed against them. He was trying to get back to his house, Paul picked up from the broken fragments of nonsense streaming from his mouth, but he also knew from the men's murmurs that the wolf was nearby; either in the house or just behind it. Then someone spoke up, one of the men holding Cyrus, and the words made Paul freeze, feeling like he had just been simultaneously lit on fire and doused with ice.

"Where's your daughter, Cyrus?"

The man's voice was firm and yet somehow calm, spoken slowly to try and get through to the raving lunatic. Paul found himself turning to the house, dread settling heavily in his stomach as he realized that was what he had been missing, and he looked around for Eli, who had shoved his way up beside him.

"Eli…" he started to say, but the hard look on his face told him that he already knew about Cyrus' missing daughter.

"I know, Paul. We've split the men and they're looking for any sign of her, but there hasn't been any luck."

"She's not in the house?" Relief melted some of the dread, but they still had to face the wolf. Almost as though reading his mind, a howl sounded up just behind them, and the group of men turned as one to see the wolf standing just beyond them, its eyes glinting in the dim torchlight. Shouts and gun fire went up from the men, but the wolf seemed to become a shadow, slipping in and out of sight and range, dodging bullets and curses as though it was second nature, which it probably was.

The wolf wasn't attacking, but Paul didn't take much time to think about it. Not until a soft cry met his ears, and a small form broke through the circle of men, coming from the direction of the woods. The form didn't make it far, as someone grabbed it and forced it back and away from the danger, but the wolf hadn't moved. It stood just within sight, dark eyes now locked on the form trembling in Cyrus' hands. Its lips pulled back over its teeth in a grotesque smile, and it made that awful chuckling sound before throwing back its head into a bloodcurdling howl. Then it turned and was gone again, just a vague outline in the trees.

Only when the danger was gone did Paul turn to look at their new arrival, and he froze once again as he locked eyes with a very familiar little girl. His mouth moved to form words, but nothing came out, and he realized with a start that she wasn't wearing her cloak, and that her hair wasn't pulled back into a braid, leaving her pale face plain for all to see. But it wasn't that that made him stare. It was the look in her eyes; the haunted, terrified and helpless look that had no place in such a youthful face.

She was still trembling, and Cyrus was gripping her shoulders tightly, as though he too were terrified, unwilling to let her go and risk losing her again. He mumbled thanks to the men, and took something from a hand when it was offered, and Paul realized it was the girl's cloak, and all the connections suddenly clicked in his brain and he almost gasped aloud. He found himself making his way forward, the rest of the men already disappearing back into the Village now that the danger had passed, and he met no resistance as he came to a stop in front of both father and daughter.

The girl looked up at him, a brief flicker of something passing across her face before she forced a small smile. He nodded to her, but kept his eyes on Cyrus' as he spoke.

"I just wanted to say, if you need anything, I'm more than willing to help." He found that he meant it, and Cyrus looked him up and down briefly before smiling, but it wasn't quite genuine.

"Thanks, but Red and I'll be fine on our own. Always have been. No difference now."

"Other than the wolf," Paul said with a shrug, and it came out harsher than he intended. He saw the girl, Red, stiffen out of the corner of his eye, but Cyrus was grinning again, something dangerous in it.

"If that creature dares show its face around here again, believe me when I say that I'll have its hide as a rug."

Paul didn't doubt the truth of the man's words, and he nodded, giving the man a grim sort of smile before turning his gaze back to Red, who gave him an equally grim smile before Cyrus turned her away, and they headed back into the house together. Paul sighed, turning towards the path through the Village, and was grateful to see that Eli was waiting for him, and he stepped up beside his friend, walking in silence up the path in the dark.

"Did anyone find out where Red had gone?" Paul finally asked, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, she was at her Grandmother's," Eli answered easily. "She visits her regularly, and I guess she just lost track of time."

"Well I'm glad to see her home safe," Paul replied, shuddering as he thought of the way the wolf seemed to single her out among the rest of the group.

"We all are," Eli said, but there was something in the man's tone that made him pause.

"What are we going to do, Eli?"

Beside him, Eli paused in his step, glancing sideways at him before continuing on.

"About the wolf," Paul continued needlessly.

"Nothing we really can do," Eli responded, his tone indicating his frustration. "The devil is like no wolf I've ever encountered, and it doesn't seem to fear fire or guns."

"But it needs to be stopped," Paul persisted.

"Of course it does," Eli bit back. "There's just no way to do that; not like we're doing now."

"What would you propose then?"

"I don't know." Eli sighed heavily. "The only thing I see working is trapping it, but I have no idea how to do that."

"If we could just find out what it wants," Paul muttered, thinking aloud to himself.

Eli grunted in response, but Paul knew he was thinking the same thing. Paul tried not to think of the obvious answer; with the attack on Emily, and the way the wolf seemed to stare directly at Red, but he couldn't hardly help it anyway. He shivered again, and found himself wondering if he should ask his neighbor for help, which didn't sound like a bad idea, when he really thought about it. All things considered, it was the better option.

He waved a goodbye to Eli as he turned up the path to his house, but instead of going straight in, he went around to the back, standing just where he had the night before, peering through the darkness to try and catch a glimpse of his elusive neighbor. Just as he was giving up hope on her arrival, the hedges shifted, and a familiar gleam of blue met his eyes. She stared at him through the vines of her garden, eyes narrowed in suspicious slits as he raised his hand in greeting. The leaves parted, almost of their own accord, and she didn't speak right away, seeming content to stand there and shoot him nasty glares, while he tried to collect his thoughts.

"There's been another attack," he finally managed. "But you probably already knew that."

"Never assume." She shot back quickly, her voice sharp and just as rough as it had been before.

"Right," he stammered, losing courage rapidly. "Um, well, we're trying to think of ways to trap the wolf, but there's no way to do that without endangering certain members of the Village."

"Certain members?" She repeated dubiously, raising an eyebrow, and he knew she caught his purposeful rephrasing.

"The children," he clarified reluctantly, and then, at her silent prodding: "The young girls, apparently."

"And what do you want me to do?" she asked, seeming to straighten imperceptibly, her grip on her staff tightening.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I just thought…." He trailed off, noticing the hard look in her eyes, and her warning to never assume came back to him.

"Mm-hm," she murmured thoughtfully, and her eyes seemed distant when he looked at her, as though she were trying to see something that was farther away than she could see.

"A bit unorthodox, but I think it could work," she said suddenly, her voice so quiet he almost didn't catch her words.

"What is?" he asked quickly, but she simply shook her head, her expression becoming closed off, and he somehow knew there would be no help from her.

"I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do," she said, though she sounded the exact opposite of remorseful, and he nodded grimly, thanking her anyway before turning to go in the house through the back door.

Lissa was waiting for him, her worried expression melting into relief as she took his jacket from him. She waited until he had sat down at the table with her before asking the important question.

"Well?"

He almost smiled, but then he remembered all that had happened and he frowned instead, and he could see the nervousness beginning to creep back onto Lissa's face.

"Everyone is fine, no one got hurt." He decided to open with that, to set her at ease before delivering the other news.

"Who was it going after this time?" she asked, and he didn't miss her wording, and her insistence that the wolf was after the children, though he couldn't help but wonder if she was right, considering what he had just seen.

"It wasn't after anyone, thankfully. It was lurking around Cyrus' house, and…"

"Cyrus?" Lissa interrupted, and he could hear the slight disdain in her voice.

"Yes, and there was a moment of panic when his daughter couldn't be found, but she showed up, and everything turned out alright."

"His…daughter?" She repeated slowly, clearly trying to make the connections.

"Red," he supplied, and her eyes widened, a soft, "No," slipping past her lips.

"She's fine, Liss," he quickly strove to reassure her. "She and Cyrus are both safe, and the wolf is gone."

 _For now._ He couldn't help but think.

"But?" she asked next, clearly understanding his unspoken thought.

"The wolf is becoming bold, and we've decided to try and trap it somehow, but there's no way to do that without someone getting hurt."

"Is there any way to keep it from coming in the Village at all?" She asked, and he shook his head.

"Nothing that we can think of. And…" he hesitated, unsure if he should tell her his suspicions.

"And?" Lissa pressed.

"Nothing, just that we need to be careful and keep an eye out in case it comes back." He ended quickly, grateful when Lissa didn't press for more information or continue the conversation.

His last thoughts as he went to sleep that night were of the wolf, how it had eyes only for Red, and the haunted look in the young girl's eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey guys! Sorry it's been so long since updating. I'm still writing this story and working through some outlines, and a lot of my original ideas were changed, so I've had to re write a lot of what I had down.**

 **Anyway, here's the next chapter for you, featuring some references to a couple of my favorite TV shows. Props to those to catch them!**

 ***In case anyone missed my opening Author's Note, this story is going to be dark! *This is Into the Woods, but this will be pretty intense so be warned! *This chapter contains potentially triggering content with mentions of abuse.***

 **Hope you enjoy, and to Becca, my guest reviewer, thank you, and I'm glad you're enjoying this story. :)**

 **Don't forget to review! I don't feel particularly motivated to update if I feel there's no one even reading.**

 **\- Raven**

* * *

Ch. 6-

"Her hood is up again."

It was the first thing Paul noticed when Red walked into the bakery the next morning. The second was the way she carried herself, as though trying not to move the wrong way. The third, was that she was quiet, not even offering a greeting as she walked into the shop.

Lissa looked up from the table beside him, and frowned when she caught sight of the girl, before returning to her work with a non-committal shrug. Paul sighed and wiped his hands on his apron before approaching her, plastering a smile onto his face to hide his concern.

"Good morning, Red," he said cheerfully. She paused in the midst of eyeing a particularly large lemon pastry, shifting her hood slightly before answering with a quiet, and slightly less cheerful 'Hello.'

"Heading back to Granny's today?" he continued, his brow furrowing slightly. Behind him, he could hear Lissa transferring more bread to the oven, before suddenly exiting the room. He heard the door close behind her, and silently promised to ask her about it later, but he kept his focus on Red, who had moved closer to the table where he stood, and was surveying the pies with a wistful air.

Red nodded her head in answer to his question, and he moved back to the oven behind her, removing a few finished loaves from the oven and setting them on the table. He noticed Red was trying to be indifferent about it, but he could see her eyes tracking the bread, and he paused for a moment before he cut a thick slice of the bread and handed it to her.

"Oh no, I couldn't," she said, shaking her head and taking a step back, even though the longing in her eyes increased.

"Consider it a gift," Paul said in response, and she hesitated before accepting the loaf with a shy smile and a murmured thanks. She took a large bite of the bread, blushing slightly as a few crumbs spilled onto her dress and the floor. Paul chuckled and pretended not to notice, turning away to wrap the rest of the bread in a cloth and place them in a small basket. He surveyed the two loaves resting innocuously in the basket and frowned, wondering what else he could add, when he remembered the way Red had eyes the pastries when she first came in. He brightened, and placed three larger lemon pastries in another cloth wrapper, smiling satisfactorily to himself, then as an afterthought, added a cinnamon bun to the basket. He nodded once, pleased with his choices, before turning back to Red, who was still standing at the table, but was now staring at the pie crusts he had begun to prepare.

He was about to ask her if he had done them right, when he noticed that her hood had slid back slightly, and he stopped as he noticed the faint mark that stood out on her cheek. He must have made some kind of noise, because she looked up at him, confusion in her face. She took in his shocked expression and paled suddenly, reaching up and feeling that her hood had slipped, and quickly pulled it forward again. There was a moment of tense silence as Paul took in what he had seen, and Red shifted anxiously back and forth.

"Red…" he said slowly, and she tensed slightly. "What is that?"

She didn't answer, but he hadn't really expected her to. He took a step forward, intending to remove her hood and get a closer look, but the moment he raised his hand to do so she flinched, hunching her shoulders and ducking her head. He froze instantly, his stomach dropping as his hand fell back to his side.

"Red?" he asked softly, and she shifted slightly, putting a little more distance between them, a fact that he didn't fail to catch. He didn't dare voice his fears aloud, not without knowing, but he couldn't help the various scenarios his mind came up with to try and explain the bruise.

It was a bruise; that much he was sure of. How she got it was the thing driving him crazy. He opened his mouth to speak again, but she shifted once more and interrupted him, her voice so low he almost didn't hear it.

"It's nothing," she whispered, and he had to resist the urge to laugh.

"Nothing?" he repeated, and she hunched her shoulders even further at his tone. "It looks like something hit you," he continued carefully, purposefully wording it _'some_ thing _'_ instead of _'some_ one.'

She shrugged a shoulder, still refusing to look at him.

"Red," he began again, but she interrupted him once more, suddenly looking up at him, and the fear in her eyes caught him off guard, temporarily driving his thoughts from his brain.

"Please," she said, moving closer in her desperation. "Please…it's really nothing."

He knew better than to push the subject, but he had to fight hard against his protests and force himself to nod.

"Alright," he said, and with that one word she seemed to melt with relief, her eyes brightening visibly as she relaxed, and she managed a tentative smile, which he grudgingly returned.

He was just handing her the basket he had prepared for her when Lissa returned, though he saw her visibly hesitate at the sight of Red before coming fully into the room.

"Hi L-Beth," Red said when she saw her. Lissa gave a tight smile in response, which faded at the sight of the almost overflowing basket in Red's hands. She gave Paul a look which clearly said she thought it was far too much food, but he gave her a reassuring smile, before following Red as she made her way to the door. He held it open for her, before stepping out after her.

"Mr. Baker," Red began cautiously, gripping the handle of the basket tightly in her fingers.

"Paul is fine, Red," he said gently, and she nodded, but repeated herself anyway.

"Mr. Baker…you won't…tell anyone, will you?"

He knew instantly what she was talking about, but he forced himself to stay calm, and nodded anyway.

"No, I won't say anything." He promised. "And Red?"

She paused halfway down the step, turning back to him.

"You know if you ever need anything, you're more than welcome here."

She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Thank you Mr.…Paul."

* * *

"What was that about?" Lissa spoke up once Red had left, and they had returned to preparing loaves.

"What do you mean?" he asked, though he had an idea.

"The basket you gave Red, it was quite a lot of food."

"I just thought it would be something nice for her to share with her grandmother, and if there's extra, she can keep it for herself and Cyrus."

"That's all then?" Lissa raised an eyebrow at him, and his own eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What other reason would there be?"

Lissa shook her head, and didn't push the issue, for which he was grateful for, and they finished preparing the rest of the bread before taking a break for lunch. He scanned the room, taking in the dwindling supplies and weighing their odds of making it through the rest of the week.

"Lis," he called, and she murmured a noise of acknowledgement from the other room. "Do you want me to go into the Village and pick up some things?"

She came out after a moment, wiping her hands on her apron and frowning as she surveyed the same shelves he had. "If you could," she said, nodding her head. "We'll need more flour and maybe some fruit. Though I'm not sure how well the fruit pies will do over the winter."

"Ok," he responded, noting the items in his mind. "And eggs and milk?"

"Of course. And…oh but that's too much isn't it?" She grimaced, and he stepped towards her, concern etching his features.

"What is it?"

"I was hoping for some cheese to make meat pies for the winter, but with the fruit and the flour, it'll be too much." Her frown took on a sour twist.

"Well, if you think the fruit pies won't sell as much, then I'll just get the cheese instead, and use the money from the fruit for that," he supplied, thinking quickly.

She looked about to protest, but he knew that any excuses she would make would be halfhearted ones at best.

"Alright," she settled on instead, and moved over to the counter to retrieve the money he would need from the clay jar they kept for this purpose. She counted out the coins and slipped them into a leather pouch, tying them onto his waist and offering him a tentative smile. He grabbed her before she could step fully away and pulled her closer for a kiss, and he felt her smile against his lips, though it faded as he untied his apron and replaced it with his jacket.

"Don't worry," he assured her with a smile. "I'll be back before sundown."

"Your dinner will be cold if you aren't," she replied, allowing her smile to return to her face.

"All the more reason to return then," he responded, drawing a small chuckle from her as he slipped out the door and into the cooler air of the late afternoon.

He shifted his bag on his shoulder and headed confidently into the Village, whistling tunelessly on his way down the path. He called a greeting to his neighbor as he passed her in the garden, though she simply scowled and humphed in disapproval, as though he should be more serious despite the beautiful weather. A few of the villagers looked up as he entered and responded in a much more suitable manner to his greetings, smiling and waving back, asking how Beth was doing and what was he doing inside the Village after so long away?

He passed the schoolyard on his way to the dairy seller's stall, and smiled ruefully at the sight of the children laughing and squealing as they played, chasing each other through the grass. He purchased two small jugs of milk, as well as a wheel of cheese for Lissa, before buying a dozen of eggs and wrapping the container carefully inside his bag. He had to go back past the schoolyard to reach the flour, and he noticed the teacher was out, ushering all the students back into the building. He smiled and waved a greeting to her, not wanting to disrupt her, though she gave him a tight grin in return, and motioned for him to come over to where she was.

He stepped in between stalls, shifting anxiously back and forth and wondering what the problem was. He didn't have a child to enroll in the school and cause trouble, so why she wanted to speak with him was a mystery. She appeared a moment later, that grim smile still in place, and Paul nodded his head respectfully in greeting as she stopped in front of him.

"Miss Woods," he said, and her smile became a little more genuine as she chuckled, waving a hand.

"Please, call me Rose. After all, we've known each other for years, it's not as though we were strangers Paul."

"Alright, Rose. What is it you called me over to talk about? Do you want me to make something special for the school?" He smiled knowingly, remembering how she would put in requests for a treat for the children if they did a good job with their work.

"No, not this time." Her serious tone made him pause. "No, it's about one of my students: Anna."

"Anna?" he repeated, confused. He knew the names of all the children in the Village, a result of all of them at one point or another stopping by the bakery for sweets. And there were no children named Anna that he could recall.

"She goes by Little Red, now," Rose clarified, and Paul felt his stomach sink a little, dreading where this was going.

"I see," he finally said, hoping she would clarify things.

"Anyway, she hasn't shown up to school today, and I was worrying about her."

"No need to worry, Miss Woods," a cocky young voice suddenly spoke up, startling both adults. They turned to see a boy, about 14, a dark mop of hair tucked neatly beneath his cap. "Anna's always taking sick days, I don't suppose now is any different than the other times."

"Thank you Thomas," Rose said tersely, her grey eyes flashing through stray bits of blonde hair. "You may return inside. Now."

Thomas flashed her a cheeky grin before turning sharply on his heel and strutting back into the school house. Rose shook her head, exasperated.

"I don't know what to do with that boy sometimes," she sighed, and Paul stifled his amused laughter, which wasn't too hard as he thought over what the boy had revealed.

"Anna-er-Red, gets sick often?" he tried to keep his tone light, but there was no denying his curiosity or concern.

"It's hard to say," she answered, her eyes hardening. She turned and pulled the school door shut, ensuring no further eavesdroppers, and then lowered her voice in caution. "There are days where she doesn't show up to school, and then the next day she'll be in and it's as though nothing ever happened. But there's no hiding the bruises, no matter how often she wears that cape."

"What?" Paul whispered, and he could feel himself pale, his hands clenching and unclenching nervously by his sides.

Rose sighed again, clearly just as uncomfortable as he about the topic of conversation. "Well we all know Cyrus isn't a particularly…well-tempered…man," she began, and Paul stiffened, suddenly realizing what it was she was trying to say.

"No," he shook his head, as though he could make it false by protesting. "Miss Woods, you aren't saying…"

"I am," her voice was as hard as her eyes, but there was remorse there as well. "And I'm worried, because she hasn't shown up today."

"And why…" he had to clear his throat before continuing. "Why tell me this? And if the Village knows, as you say, why has no one done anything?" He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice, but she just shook her head in response, her lips pursed.

"You must understand, this is a small town. We don't interfere with each other's business."

"I understand nothing," he responded sharply. "And if this is such a small town, why are you interfering?"

"Because I wasn't raised in a small town," she answered, a small smile playing at her lips before it fell once more in a sigh. "Please. If not for me, then for her."

"But why me?" he called after her, as she made to re-enter the school.

"Because she thinks highly of you, and so do I. Besides, who else would there be?"

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed the chapter, I know it felt like not much happened, but it helps set things up for the rest of the plot. With any luck I'll have the next chapter up for you guys some time after New Year's. Thanks for reading and don't forget to review!**

 **\- Raven**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey I'm back! Sorry it's been so long since updating. I wasn't sure if anyone was even interested or reading this story, but I decided there was no point sulking or worrying about it, I don't just write for other people, I write for myself, and at least I can enjoy it.**

 **Anyway, sorry to everyone who had been following this story, I am back, and I will do my best to keep my updates regular. Thank you so much to Becca, Jellyfish3012, and my Guest reviewer! I really appreciate your reviews and I'm glad you understand and still like my story.**

 **Hope you all enjoy this chapter. Be warned this chapter contains brief mentions of blood, as well as pretty heavily implied abuse. Again, this story will be dark, so heed my A/Ns for warnings!**

 **Thank you and don't forget to review!**

 **\- Raven**

* * *

Who else would there be?

The words haunted him and drove him on as he jogged through the market and up the hill towards Cyrus' house. Was he really the only person she could think of to help? Him, the childless baker, amidst the various other smiths and carpenters and tanners; all of whom had children of their own and would be much more suited to the task than he.

The house loomed before him, just as small and dismal as it had appeared the night of the wolf attack. No lamps were lit in the windows, and he could only hope that Cyrus was still off hunting. He stopped short of the door, hesitating only a moment before walking up the steps and raising a fist to knock on the door. Then he caught himself, thinking through what he was doing. He backed away and then off the steps, walking around the back and stepping over the small fence that contained the chickens, shooing them away as he waded through the grass the back door.

He didn't hesitate this time, and pushed open the unlocked door, which swung open noisily and ruined his hopes for a subtle entrance. He stepped carefully into the main room of the cottage, surprised by just how large it was. There was a table in the center, with enough room for four or five people, though only two chairs sat at it, on opposite sides of the table.

There was a small pump-like mechanism by the window, and an open fireplace set in the center of the wall, the dying embers providing warmth if not much light. He crept carefully around the table, and peered into a small room attached to the main. The place smelled musty and full of death. Looking up, he realized why. The walls were lined with trophies: deer antlers and teeth, hides and furs, every possible piece of animal imaginable littered the room, with one huge buck's head watching over everything from a peg on the opposite wall. He scrambled back, disgusted and horrified, and tried to tell himself that none of it was alive or able to hurt him, but he still couldn't help the shudder that went through him as he stepped back into the main room.

There were two other doors at the far side of the room, and he made his way to the closest one, pushing the door open and peering in nervously. A simple bedroom met his eyes, with a small chest of drawers against one wall, and a bed against the other. The sheets were half on the floor and half on the bed, as though its occupant had woken up suddenly and flung them to the ground in their haste to get up. He stepped into the room, and a flash of color caught in the corner of his eye.

A red cloak was draped over the drawers.

The baker stopped then, peering at the room more closely. He stepped over to the bed, placing his hand on the center of the mattress. It was cold; it hadn't been slept in for a while. He frowned, worry tugging at him in earnest. There was no sign that Red had even been in the room at all except for the cloak on top of the drawers.

He left the room, and crossed over the next one, not sure what he would find. The door didn't budge as easily as the first had, and he had to slam his shoulder into the wood to get it to give. It opened with a jolt and a bang, and he winced, then grimaced at the stale smell of the room. It was much plainer than the room he had come from, an un-painted wooden chest of drawers, plain walls, the wooden floor was worn and creaked at the slightest movement. The bed was made rather neatly, which surprised him; he wouldn't have expected Cyrus to be one to care about appearances.

He tread as softly as he could through the room, but there was nothing to see there, either. He frowned, about to turn back, but then he caught a glimpse of something pale beside the bed, illuminated softly by the moonlight coming through the window. His heart seemed to stutter in his chest, but he stepped closer, until he could finally identify the object. It was a foot, peeking out from under the edge of the bed. He was afraid to get closer, but he forced himself to continue, and he was certain he stopped breathing entirely for a moment.

Red lay face down on the floor beside the bed, pale and still against the wood. He rushed over to the other side of the bed, unable to figure out how she had gotten there in the first place. Kneeling down beside her, he was able to see a faint mark on her cheek, no doubt the one he had seen before. He started to reach for her shoulder, thinking he could wake her and help her back to her own bed, but then he stopped, something more catching his attention. Her nightgown had slipped down and hung off her shoulder, and he could just make out the outline of another mark across her shoulders.

His jaw clenched, and he had to bite back a curse. Gently, he placed his hand on her shoulder, but she didn't stir. Silently cursing Cyrus a thousand times over, he shifted his weight closer to the girl and rolled her until she rested in his arms. Cradling her to his chest, he picked her up and carried her out of the room, his eyes locked on her face for even the smallest sign of waking. She felt cold in his arms, and he assumed, hoped rather, that it was because she had been lying close to the open window.

Walking back into Red's room, he laid her down on her bed, then grabbed her cloak, draping it carefully around her before bending down and looking under the bed for shoes. He found her boots, and slipped them onto her feet before picking her up again and making his way out of the room, and out of the house. He didn't stop to question what he was doing, and he only gave a passing thought to what Lissa would say. His only thought was getting Red back to the bakery, somewhere safe.

He was halfway up the path through the Village when she gasped sharply, and he stopped, looking down to see her shift in his arms. He felt a sigh of relief go through him. She would be alright. He would get her to the bakery and she would be fine. He kept walking, careful to keep his steps even so as not to jar her any further.

It seemed like a lifetime had come and gone before the familiar lights of his own home flickered into existence before him. He climbed up the path, balancing the girl carefully in one arm as he reached for the door, then stopped as he felt eyes on him. He turned, and saw a flash of blue, but it was gone before he could think on it. He wrenched the door open, closing it quickly and with a little more force than necessary.

Lissa came out of the kitchen and he watched her words freeze on her lips. "Paul, what…?"

"Water," he gasped out, pushing past her and laying Red down on the spare table. "And cloths, quickly!"

She looked like she wanted to say more, but she caught the look in his eyes and turned to go out the back door. She returned as he was stripping Red of her cloak and shoes, and poured the water from the pail into the kettle. "It should be hot," she said, at his questioning look, then she went to retrieve cloths and bandages.

"I suppose you didn't manage to get any flour," she said briskly when she came back again. He didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing, stroking Red's hair gently.

"Dare I ask?" she said, and he pursed his lips, unsure how to begin.

"I ran into the school teacher in the Village, and she was concerned about one of her students who'd been absent for a while."

"I see," she murmured, but he had to wonder if she really did. "And you took it upon yourself to investigate?"

He opened his mouth and closed it a few times, unable to think of a response to that, either. She moved over to the kettle, carefully pouring some water into a bowl and bringing it over, then she retrieved another bowl, and rummaged in one of the back cabinets for something else. He turned Red carefully onto her side, and she curled up into a ball. He could tell by the ease with which it was done that it was instinct that drove her, and his heart clenched.

She returned with both bowls, and he couldn't help but cough at the strong stench of alcohol. He opened his mouth to comment, but Red suddenly stiffened, and a soft noise that might have been a whimper escaped her mouth. Something in Lissa's face changed then, and he watched her take in the bruise coloring her cheek, and follow his hands where they gripped her shoulder. She stepped closer, slowly, as though dreaming, and he let her take his place. He watched as she pulled gently at the thin material of her night gown, untying a few loops and slipping it down off her shoulders. Her eyes flickered, and he watched the emotions play out on her face: anger, pain, sadness, fear, and then a grim determination settling on her features.

She moved quickly, shifting the girl onto her stomach and pulling the nightgown down across her back. Paul cursed, and she didn't reprimand him for it. Bruises and red welts littered her entire back, from her shoulder down to her lower back, angry red slashes crisscrossing over each other and forming a grotesque pattern. Blood, some fresh and some dried, accompanied each mark, and he felt his stomach turn, and had to resist the urge to retch.

Lissa dipped a cloth in the water and started cleaning the blood from her back. Red reacted almost immediately, squirming away from the contact and whimpering, and Paul feared she would wake. He stepped to her other side and tried to keep his voice calm and soothing as he stroked her hair and murmured comforting words.

"It's alright, Anna," he whispered, using the name Rose had mentioned. "It will be alright."

She stilled, but only for a moment. Lissa had been rinsing the cloth and cleaning the rest of the wounds, and the water was now more than just tinged with red. She grabbed a fresh cloth and folded it in half, dipping the edge wrapped around her hand in the alcohol. Paul tensed, knowing what would come next, and Lissa looked pained as she met his eyes.

"You'll have to hold her still," she said, and he adjusted his grip, holding her as tightly as he dared without hurting her.

Lissa drew a deep breath, then carefully began cleaning her wounds with the alcohol soaked cloth. Red gasped, her body jerking under Paul's hands, her own hands coming up to grip the edge of the table. He could see her eyes flicker open, light blue irises so wide it was almost all he could see. Lissa continued, wincing when Red cried out, and Paul spoke quickly, once more trying to reassure her, but she seemed not to hear him, whimpering and writhing under him despite his efforts.

When Lissa finally finished, all three were shaking, though Lissa managed to keep her emotions out of her face. Her face, but not her eyes. Paul watched her as she cleaned up the mess she had made, and he couldn't tell if her anger was directed at him or someone else entirely. Red shivered in his arms, and he had run out of words, so he just held her and hoped she could relax enough for Lissa to bandage her.

"Mr. Baker?" he finally heard, and he blinked, realizing he had been staring at the bedroom door and waiting for Lissa to come out. He looked down to see Red peering up at him through dark lashes dampened with tears.

"Yes?" he said, just as softly, and she shifted nervously.

"How did I get here?"

"I…I brought you."

She frowned, her brow furrowing as she took that in. "Why?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it when he heard the bedroom door swing open. Lissa stepped back into the room, a roll of bandages in tow. She gave Paul a meaningful look when she caught him staring, a look that promised they would talk about this and soon. Red shied away at the sight of the bandages, picking at the edges of her nightgown and tugging it over her shoulders.

"I'm fine," she said quickly, stammering just a little in her haste to get the words out. "I don't need….I mean, you don't have to…." She huffed a little, frustrated at her inability to speak.

"We're only trying to help, Anna," he said, and she flinched, grimacing and shaking her head.

"Don't," she said, taking a shaky breath before continuing, head shaking the whole while. "Please don't call me that."

He and Lissa exchanged another look, and she frowned, giving a small shake of her head and lightly shrugging one shoulder.

"Alright," he said. "Red."

She nodded once, but still didn't seem pleased, and he wished he could know what she was thinking-feeling in that moment.

"Why don't you want the bandages?" Lissa asked gently, and Red's eyes shifted to her before looking away again, down towards the table.

"I never…It will show and I don't want…. and I've never…." She broke off, her face twisting again, and Lissa made a shushing noise.

"It's all right. I understand."

 _Do you, really?_ Paul thought. _Could you tell me, then, because I don't understand any of this._

Lissa came close to the table and placed a white sheet down on the table. At second glance, it was revealed to be a nightgown, one of Lissa's from when she was younger. Paul understood and went into the kitchen, washing his face and hands with cold water. He could hear Lissa's voice, questioning softly, and Red's quiet replies, but he didn't dare risk a return into the room.

He didn't know what he was doing, or what he had been thinking, bringing Red here, and he had no idea what he was going to do with her after. And Cyrus would be back from his hunting trip; if not tonight, then the next, or the day after and what then? He couldn't just let Red go back to that, could he? There was no real proof it was Cyrus who had done this to her, but really, what other explanation was there? He couldn't in good conscience let her return, but who was he to interfere? He'd done enough already. And yet, he felt like he hadn't done anywhere near enough.


End file.
